The next morning on the villa began slow and warm—
as if the world itself had paused, giving them shelter from the storms raging in Rome.
Marcus woke up early. He came to look for a moment, simply watching her sleep— her hair spilling across the pillow, lips parted softly, breath calm and steady.
For the first time since this twisted game began, he didn’t feel like a hunter. Or an heir. Just a man allowed to look at something beautiful… without touching.
He didn’t wake her.
Instead, he made coffee—black for himself, and a cappuccino with a pinch of cinnamon for her.
The old housekeeper on duty smiled quietly, as if she already knew everything without being told.
Later, they had breakfast on the terrace.
Nicoletta was quiet, but peaceful. Marcus didn’t push, didn’t question. He talk
